Scientific Revolution
by ramonaquimby
Summary: Accepted hypothesis: The people that love you will leave you. Brennan works out some issues, post-100th ep. Oneshot.


**A/N: This has been bouncing around in my head for a few weeks, so I wrote it down. Set directly after the 100th episode, the story stems from Brennan's assertion: "I'm a scientist. I can't change."**

**Well, I think Brennan needs a scientific revolution.**

**Borrowing conceptually from Thomas S. Kuhn's philosophy of scientific revolutions—basically, that scientists work and work under the same general assumptions until confronted with a series of anomalies that do not fit into their known, accepted version of the world, at which time a revolution occurs and a new paradigm is constructed—Brennan works out some issues.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**This is my first foray into fic-writing, ever, so I appreciate any and all comments!**

* * *

**1: Science operates within universal paradigms of knowledge and behavior.**

"_I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. I work at the Jeffersonian Institution. I'm a forensic anthropologist. I am a scientist."_ The thought repeats through her head like a mantra. "_I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan…"_

She can't change.

She unlocks her front door the same way, she hangs her keys on their hook the same way, she shrugs out of her coat the same way she has every night for every day for the last fifteen years.

She is a scientist. She can't change.

Six years ago: "I have a gambling problem," he'd said. "But I'm working on it."

She pulls on her pajamas, brushes her teeth, climbs into bed. Routine.

She can still taste the tequila in her mouth, his lips on her lips. That first kiss.

She felt brave, a little reckless. Like a gambler.

"I just… I feel like this is going somewhere."

She felt it too.

The people that love you will leave you.

So she ran.

**2: When scientists encounter anomalies which cannot be explained by the accepted paradigm, they must rethink this paradigm.**

She lies awake late that night, staring at the ceiling until the edges of her vision warp and fog with exhaustion.

Six years later, he's still there.

And there's so much more to lose. Lying here in bed tonight, she is as terrified as she was that rainy night six years ago, as terrified as she was three years ago when she thought he was dead and punched him in the face and then stood in his bathroom yelling and ignoring his nakedness—this is not _sexual_ anymore, that said… this is more than that.

"I don't know how," she remembers pleading. "I'm not a gambler."

He's spent the past five years teaching her how to place bets.

The people that love you will leave you.

Booth loves her.

Booth hasn't left her.

...yet.

**3: A scientific revolution requires a paradigm shift. **

The sunrise filtering through her window shades leaves geometric patterns on the ceiling.

She knows, her brain knows, that the only way science truly advances is through experimentation. Through failure. You try and you fail and you try again until you find out what works.

But she can't risk trying. Because she can't risk failing. Failing means losing him.

And right now she has him, she has their work together and their meals together and their late nights in her office, and if failure means she has nothing, she cannot fail.

She rolls over in bed, burying her face in the pillow.

Abruptly she remembers learning the scientific method in school, her sandy-haired fifth grade teacher drawing out the steps on the blackboard: Ask a question, form a hypothesis, collect data, analyze the results, conclude.

Hypothesis: The people that love you will leave you.

Data collection: Booth loves her. Booth hasn't left her.

Analysis of results: This time, she can't bear to run.

"We can still work together, can't we?"

**Conclusion: Brennan needs a scientific revolution.**

Morning brings a quiet glow to her bedroom.

She sits up, blinking the dryness from her eyes, and catches sight of her face in the mirror.

"_Conclusion_," she thinks. "_The people that love you…"_

Will stay with you?

She wouldn't take that bet.

...yet.


End file.
